


The Most Potent Aphrodisiac

by wilddragonflying



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Lust Spell, M/M, Porn With Plot, more like an excuse for me to write Wincest porn, well a minor plot.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam and Dean won't acknowledge they love each other, Aphrodite is a meddling bitch, and I get to write Wincest porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Potent Aphrodisiac

The Most Potent Aphrodisiac

 

 

 

Aphrodite glared at the man in front of her. He was a cupid, and he had just brought her news that a key person in her pet project—Operation AP—was now dead, thanks to Zeus. And while the bastard was dead as well, she was still seriously pissed.

 

“How?” she asked icily.

 

“Artemis’s arrow,” the cupid replied, keeping his eyes on the floor. “She had to kill him to kill Zeus, so that Prometheus’s son would not continue to bear Prometheus’s curse.”

 

Aphrodite raised an eyebrow. Now _there_ was an interesting line of thought. She pursued it for a moment, and finally a malicious grin spread across her face. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, and beckoned the cupid closer.

 

After he had left, she sat back with a satisfied smirk. She _hated_ having her projects interrupted.

 

***  
  
 _Albion_ _, Idaho_

 

With less than 300 residents, Albion, Idaho, was the quintessential small town. Everyone knew everyone, and when anything happened—good or bad—everyone knew about it within a short period of time.

 

So when Jane Herring and George Manik went on a date after three months of dancing around each other in the workplace, naturally the whole town was ecstatic. It was easy to see that there were the beginnings of a lifelong romance between the two, and people had started to place bets on when George would propose.

 

No one expected that George would end up killing Jane, nor that, when the police arrived to arrest him, he would be ranting about how she was cheating on him, how he had seen her having sex with another man. The police wrote it off as George having several drinks too many—there was an exceptionally high level of alcohol in his blood—when he knew that he couldn’t hold his liquor as well as most other people.

 

No one saw the cupid as he left the house that night, a worried look on his face.

 

***  
  
“Sam, wake up,” Dean hissed, his hand automatically going for the pistol he kept under his pillow. The only reason Sam could hear him was that the hotel had been out of two-bed rooms, and they were too damned tired after finally killing the banshee to bother with anything more than a quick shower before falling into bed.

 

Sam was awake almost instantly, his hand going to the knife under his pillow. He kept it steady as he looked around the room. “What did you hear?” he asked. He couldn’t see anything, but if Dean was awake then something was up.

 

“Rustling. Like wings.” Dean reached over and flicked the bedside light on. “All right,” he said, louder, “we know you’re there. Come on out!” The room was quiet and still for a moment, and then a man just popped into view from thin air. “Jesus Christ,” Dean moaned, sitting up. “Not a cupid!”

 

“Oi, and wha’s wron’ wif a cup’d, then?” the cupid demanded indignantly.

 

“Nothing,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s shoulder in a silent warning to stay quiet. “Nothing. He just doesn’t like waking up at—“ Sam checked the bedside clock—“3:46 in the morning. So why did you come here?” He eyed the cupid warily. He didn’t see a bow and arrow, but he knew that cupids didn’t need those to make people fall in love.

 

“I need yor ‘elp; it’s Aphrodite, she’s gone bloody bonkers!” the cupid said, and Sam noted with alarm that he was close to tears. “She’s makin’ us target young couples, and then makin’ one of ‘em off the other!”

 

Sam tilted his head to the side, and glanced at Dean. They exchanged a look. “So what do you expect us to do about it?” Sam asked finally, looking at the cupid warily. They’d been lucky to get away from Zeus relatively unscathed.

 

“Stop ‘er! It’s not ‘ight, wot she’s doin’! Love ain’t somefing what should be contaminated like that!” The cupid was now pacing agitatedly, and Sam held up a hand.

 

“All right, all right. Where is she, do you know?” Sam got out of bed and walked over to the laptop, pulling up his sweatpants. He opened the laptop and booted it up, ready to run a quick search.

 

“Albion, Idaho. Don’t rightly know _why_ she chose one o’ the smallest towns in th’ state.” The cupid hovered anxiously over Sam’s shoulder.

 

“Okay, gimme a sec,” Sam muttered, typing _Albion_ _, Idaho_ _obituaries_ into the search engine. “Okay, looks like there’s been several murders, all between couples that got together in the last… six months. Dean, that’s right after—“

 

“Right after Artemis ganked her boyfriend and father, yeah,” Dean finished, getting out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans. “So, how do you expect us to stop her?” Dean asked the cupid, but then swore when he realized that the cupid was gone. “Dammit! Have I mentioned how much I hate cupids and angels and gods?” he snarled.

 

“Couple of times, yeah,” Sam said, smirking. He called up an online map. “Looks like we can be there by this afternoon, if we left now. We already paid, right?”

 

“Yeah. Let me grab a shirt, then we can go.”

 

Sam grabbed a shirt of his own and pulled on a pair of jeans, then quickly straightened the room, doing the customary wipe-down of all surfaces. When he straightened, he caught sight of Dean watching him, an odd look in his eyes. “What, did I miss something?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

 

Dean hastily cleared his throat, the hint of a flush starting at the base of his neck. “No, nothing, just want to make sure you don’t overdo it, since you want to slam the gates of Hell shut so bad,” he muttered, turning away from Sam and zipping his bag closed. Sam eyed Dean for a moment, trying to decide whether to push the issue, before he shrugged. Dean was just being the overprotective older brother, like usual.

 

“Okay, then, let’s go,” Sam said, shouldering his bag and leading the way out of the motel room.

 

***  
  
Dean glanced at Sam as he drove down the highway. Sam had fallen asleep soon after they’d pulled back onto the road, his cheek smashed up against the Impala’s window. His hair was sticking up in odd places, and Dean resisted the urge to run his hand over his brother’s hair in an attempt to smooth it down. He’d already been caught once tonight; he didn’t need another incident this soon.

 

He turned his gaze back to the road, although at four in the morning, there wasn’t anyone else out driving. His mind turned back to Sammy, however, and he let himself think.

 

He wasn’t sure when he’d first started feeling like this, all he knew was that they—him, Sam, and their dad—had been working a job, just a local water spirit being pissy, one year, and when Sam had almost died, Dean had realized that sometime earlier his brotherly feelings for Sam had evolved into something a lot more intense and not-so-brotherly. He was sure he’d done a damned good job of hiding it, but there were times like tonight when he would almost get caught.

 

When Sam had left for Stanford, Dean had withdrawn into himself, away from everyone. He’d started hunting solo, and until their father had gone missing, he hadn’t contacted Sam. It would have been too painful, hearing Sam’s voice—or even just reading a text message—and knowing that they were living separate lives, lives that—in all likelihood—would never cross paths. Not unless Dean went to court for a murder charge, anyway.

 

He let his thoughts wander as he drove through the night and into the morning, finally stopping sometime around nine o’ clock to fuel up both the Impala and himself. Sam was still sleeping when he came back in front the convenience store, and he chucked the wrapped chicken sandwich at him, nailing Sam on the side of the head.

 

“I’m up!” Sam yelped, his long limbs flailing as he almost cracked his head on the roof of the car. He glanced around, and then glared at Dean when Dean snickered.

 

“Gotcha some breakfast,” Dean said, gesturing to the sandwich as he waited for the pump to finish fueling up the Impala. Sam glanced at the sandwich and then back at Dean before he snagged it from the seat, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled around a mouthful of chicken, and Dean chuckled.

 

“No problem.” He finished his own sandwich and walked around to the back of the car, unhooking the nozzle and replacing it at the pump before screwing the gas cap back on. He climbed back into the driver’s seat. “So, Aldion, Idaho, right?” he said, turning the ignition key and putting the car in gear as he pulled out of the station.

 

“Yeah,” Sam said, swallowing. “So how do you want to work this?” he asked, looking at Dean as he took another bite.

 

Dean forced himself to pay attention to the road, not his little brother, and certainly not the way his little brother’s throat worked as he chewed and swallowed. “The usual, I guess,” he said. “FBI, investigating suspicious deaths.”

 

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Dean,” he said finally. “If Aphrodite really is behind it—and I don’t see any reason to doubt that cupid, they’re not especially great at lying—then we may have to go in as more than FBI agents.”

 

Dean’s grip tightened on the wheel. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

 

“I mean… She’s targeting, or getting the cupids to target, couples, so—“

 

“No.” Dean cut Sam off a bit sharper than he had intended to, but there was no way that he was going in pretending to be Sam’s lover, for Christ’s sake! That would just be tempting fate a bit too much. Especially with Aphrodite, goddess of love, around and presumably pissed.

 

“Dean, you know that it’s gonna be the only way we can really draw her out, or at least draw a cupid out,” Sam began, but Dean interrupted him again.

 

“I said, ‘no,’ Sam.” His voice was tight, too tight, he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m not going in there pretending to be your lover.”

 

Sam sighed. “Dean, it’s the only way it’ll work,” he argued, “and you know it. So why is it so damned hard to admit it? Hell, any other time you’re all for pretending that we’re a couple, if only so you can embarrass the hell out of me!”

 

“Because this time the actual fucking _goddess of love_ is involved, Sam,” he snarled. “Don’t you think that’s just a tiny bit troubling? If she makes us, she could damn well decide to have a bit of fun by making us fall in love, or at least think we are, for real!” He kept his eyes on the road, not trusting himself to look at Sam right now, because if he did, he had a sneaking suspicion that the next words out of his mouth would be something along the lines of “Not like she’d have to cast that spell on both of us.”

 

Sam huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Dean. “We know how to avoid the attention of things stronger than her,” he pointed out. “Look, Dean, I don’t want to spend any more time around a goddess than you do, and the quickest way to draw her out in a small town—for Pete’s sake, the town’s only got like 250 people in it!—is to be the ‘new couple’ in town!”

 

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was clipped with warning. “I’m not going to do that.” He refused to talk any more about it, and finally Sam subsided into silence, grumbling under his breath.

 

***  
  
For the rest of the ride, Sam kept sneaking glances at Dean. It didn’t make any sense why Dean was suddenly _so_ reluctant to go along with the most logical plan. Yeah, Dean had a point about how Aphrodite could decide to take it out on them if she found out they were faking it, but even Dean—the stubborn, pigheaded bastard—usually gave in to logic. Dean’s vehement refusal could be due to a lot of things, but none of them made sense.

 

Watching Dean drive, Sam thought back to all the other trips they’d taken. They’d grown up in the Impala, tagging along behind John Winchester on his hunts. Dean had always been there, constantly, making sure that Sam was okay, that Sam got enough to eat, or had presents on Christmas… Honestly, Dean was more of a father to Sam than John had ever been. Leaving Dean behind to go to Stanford had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. And if he knew then what he knew now, he wasn’t sure if he’d make the same choice. So many people could live if he didn’t make the same choice, if he stayed with Dean.

 

But on the other hand, so many people could also die. He might not have been strong enough to jump in the cage, Dean might not have been strong enough to resist Michael, and they would have destroyed the world. Sam sighed to himself, shifting in the seat to look out the window at the blurred scenery. There was no point going over what-if’s. He had to concentrate on the problem at hand.

 

 

 

When they finally arrived in Aldion at a little before three in the afternoon, Sam leaped out of the Impala before Dean had a chance to, volunteering to go get the room. He shut the door before Dean could say anything, and darted into the lobby.

 

“Hello,” the receptionist greeted him. She seemed like a nice enough girl.

 

“Hi,” he said, a little breathlessly, giving her the patented Winchester Wink. “I need a room.”

 

She raised an eyebrow and glanced out the glass doors to the Impala. “Two queens or a king?” she asked, doing a pretty good job of keeping her face smooth.

 

Sam smirked. “King, please,” he requested, handing over the money. “Not sure how long we’ll be staying, so I’ll just pay for a few nights, then more as needed, if that’s okay.”

 

“Sure, sure,” she said, taking the money and passing over two room keys. “We don’t get a lot of people, let alone couples, coming through here.”

 

“Thanks,” Sam said, smiling at the girl as he turned and walked back out the door. He opened the passenger door of the Impala and slid in. “Room 17,” he told Dean.

 

Dean eyed him suspiciously for a moment before driving around the lot and pulling up in front of the door to Room 17. Sam got out and went to the trunk, getting his stuff out of it before walking to the door, using the key to open it. He tossed his stuff in a chair and darted into the bathroom, grinning at the strangled sound Dean made when he caught sight of the single bed.

 

When Sam came back out, Dean was standing, legs spread and arms crossed, glaring at him. “I thought I told you we weren’t doing this,” he said, his voice a low growl.

 

Sam didn’t have time to wonder about the shiver that went down his spine when Dean spoke like that, or the thought that crossed his mind— _Wish he’d growl at me like that for another reason—_ before he replied, “Look, it was cheaper to just have the one bed, all right?”

 

Dean glared at him for another minute before walking into the bathroom himself, shutting the door behind him. Sam breathed out a small sigh of relief when he heard the lock click. He knew Dean wouldn’t kick up a fuss about having only one bed, although he may kick Sam or himself out to go sleep in the Impala.

 

By the time Dean came back out of the bathroom, Sam had changed into his FBI suit, and was double-checking the ID. _Need to remember to update the photo,_ he reminded himself. Catching Dean’s raised eyebrow, he raised one in response. “You’re the one who wanted to go into this FBI, not me,” he pointed out, turning his back.

 

“You’re the one who rented us a room with only one bed,” Dean retorted, but he grabbed his own suit and stepped into it. Sam smirked to himself.

 

Their first stop was the morgue, to look at the bodies of the victims. The attendant who was leading them back to the morgue asked, “So, how long have you two been together?”

 

“We grew up together,” Dean replied absently, too busy eyeing the attendant’s ass.

 

Sam reached over and slipped his arm around Dean’s waist, pinching his hip and yanking him closer at the same time. “But we’ve been _together_ together for several years now,” he added with a smile. The receptionist turned and smiled at them.

 

“Oh, that’s lovely, to fall in love with a childhood friend,” she cooed. “My girlfriend and I grew up together, too!”

 

Sam ignored the angry, bewildered glance Dean threw at him as he squeezed Dean’s waist affectionately. “Well, it took quite some time to convince Dean here that I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere, but despite it all, I can’t imagine being with anyone else.” He smiled down at Dean, who managed to get with the program, finally.

 

He put his own arm around Sam’s shoulders, his hand patting Sam’s upper arm. “Yeah, after he ran off several times,” he said with a chuckle.

 

“Well, lovely to see that you two have worked past all that,” the attendant said, still smiling as she opened the door to the morgue. “You want the bodies on the middle shelves,” she told them before shutting the door.

 

Sam waved after her, and then frowned as Dean shoved away from him as soon as the door clicked shut. “What?” he asked, looking at Dean in confusion.

 

“Sammy, I told you that I wasn’t doing the whole ‘couples’ thing!” Dean snarled, glaring at Sam.

 

“Too bad; I said we were, and you’re going to have to just suck it up, for once,” Sam retorted, pulling out the drawer containing the first victim. “Now c’mon, we’ve got work to do.”

 

Dean grumbled as he pulled on gloves and the other equipment before joining Sam over the dead guy.

 

About half an hour later, Sam waved him over. “Look at this,” he said, holding out the dead guy’s heart.

 

Dean felt his stomach drop. “Cupid markings,” he said, taking the heart and tilting it to the side to get a better look. “Just like on the hearts of that couple Famine got to a few years back.”

 

“Yep,” Sam answered, moving to the next drawer. “I bet if we look at the other hearts, we’ll find the same marks.”

 

“Agreed,” Dean said, pulling out another drawer. An hour later, they had a row of seven hearts lined up, each bearing a cupid’s mark.

 

“Well. Guess we really are dealing with Aphrodite,” Dean said, feeling slightly sick.

 

“Yeah. Hey, you okay?” Sam asked, looking at Dean with concern. Dean looked like he was going to hurl.

 

“This is why I told you I didn’t want to do the whole ‘couple’ charade,” Dean said, his voice toneless.

 

“Look, Dean, I’m not gonna back out of this now, and it’s my life, too, you know? If you were working with anyone else, you’d be okay with the whole couples charade,” Sam said, looking at Dean, his face set. “Now you can either play along with it, and make this job go by a lot quicker, or you can fight it, and put us both in more danger.”

 

Dean glared at him. “You’re not playing fair,” he accused.

 

“Whoever said I did? You’ve done plenty of the same to me, Dean,” Sam replied, cleaning up the morgue. He heard Dean mumbling under his breath, but his brother didn’t say anything else that Sam could hear, so Sam let the subject drop.

 

***  
  
That night, they were grabbing dinner at the local diner when Dean spotted the attendant from earlier staring at them. He kicked Sam under the table, and flicked his eyes over to where the attendant was sitting, talking to a man. They were leaning in extremely close to each other, whispering in each other’s ears.

 

“Thought she said she had a girlfriend?” Dean asked.

 

Sam shrugged. “Maybe he’s her brother?” he suggested, but the way the two were sitting… Sam suddenly became aware that in the too-tiny space under their table, Dean’s knees were pressed against his. He looked pointedly at his brother, who shrugged.

 

“You wanted to do this,” he pointed out, a teasing glint in his eyes. If Sam insisted on playing “couple,” then Dean was going to take full advantage of that.

 

When Sam had pulled Dean up against his side earlier, it had taken everything Dean had in him to not lean into the touch, maybe even lay his head on Sam’s shoulder. And damned if that didn’t embarrass him, the fact that he would willingly lay his head on Sam’s shoulder when he wasn’t hurt.

 

Sam flushed, and Dean smirked. Then he glanced back over at the attendant’s table, and frowned. “Where’d he go?” he asked, glancing around the diner. Sam looked around, too, but couldn’t find anything.

 

“I don’t know.” Sam was frowning, too. “But I doubt it means anything,” he said, but his tone betrayed him. Dean snorted and finished his meal.

 

“All right, come on. Let’s head back to the motel. Nothing more we can do tonight,” he said, getting up and putting down money for the food and tip. Sam got to his feet, struggling to get out from under the tiny table, and Dean snorted. “Need some help there, Sasquatch?” he asked teasingly.

 

Sam glared at him as he finally managed to wriggle out from under the table. “No, thanks,” he huffed. Spotting a few people watching them, he wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist again and added, “sweetheart.”

 

Dean almost spluttered at being called “sweetheart,” but stopped himself. “All right then, baby,” he purred, moving his own arm around Sam’s waist and steering him out of the diner. “Let’s head back.”

 

Dean could feel every eye in the place on them as they walked out, but he couldn’t sense any hostility, only warmth and curiosity. They split apart to get into the car, and Dean quickly put the Impala in gear. Sam suddenly sucked in a breath, his hands coming up to cradle his head. “Hey,” Dean said in alarm, reaching over to lay a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but jerking it back when Sam flinched away from him. “You all right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine; just got dizzy for a moment there,” Sam said, but he wouldn’t look Dean in the eye. Dean frowned, but didn’t push. When they arrived back at the motel, he made it into the room before a stabbing pain hit him in the gut, and he doubled over, groaning. He waved Sam off, and straightened gingerly, but the pain was gone as quickly as it had come. When he looked up and met Sam’s gaze, the rest of the world grayed out. All that mattered was that  Sam was there, so close, and suddenly Dean was there, too, his mouth on Sam’s, pushing his younger brother against the wall.

 

Sam didn’t seem surprised, instead kissing Dean back, his hands coming down to push Dean’s jacket off. Dean’s mouth moved frantically from Sam’s mouth to his cheeks, jaw, neck, anywhere he could reach, nipping, kissing, and sucking. Sam gasped and arched, his head thunking back against the wall. Dean attacked it eagerly, growling possessively as his hands as good as tore Sam’s shirt from his body. Dean moved his attention down, taking one pebbled nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it and humming contentedly as Sam gasped again.

 

Suddenly Sam reversed their positions, and now Dean was the one pinned to the wall, being ravished by his little brother. Sam’s mouth and hands were everywhere, and Dean didn’t know which touch to push against as Sam worked his shirt off and opened his pants, dragging them down as he sank to his knees in front of Dean. Dean gasped and his hips bucked as Sam took him in his mouth, Dean’s fingers burying themselves in Sam’s hair.

 

Sam had one hell of a mouth on him, and he used it expertly, working Dean to the edge before Dean finally got the strength to pull Sam off of his cock and to his feet, kissing Sam hungrily as he shoved him backwards onto the single bed. Dean followed him down, kissing Sam again before moving down, working Sam’s pants off of him as he slowly wormed his way down Sam’s body, enjoying Sam’s moans and mewls. He threw Sam’s pants somewhere across the room(He thought they might have landed on the doorknob, but he wasn’t sure.) and then took Sam’s cock in his hand, licking the tip experimentally.

 

Sam groaned and arched his back, thrusting his cock closer to Dean’s mouth. Dean obliged, taking Sam as deeply into his mouth as he could, swirling his tongue around the head as his hand worked the rest of Sam’s length and balls. Within moments he had Sam writhing and begging on the bed—“God, Dean, yes, please, oh, Jesus, _Dean…_ ”—but he pulled back and dug into his duffel, quickly grabbing the bottle of lube. He saw Sam’s eyes, previously half-lidded, light up with wicked intent, and then they were wrestling on the bed.

 

Dean lost, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain when Sam took him in hand, stroking a few times before he wrestled Dean to his hands and knees and began stretching him, inserting one lubed finger. Dean moaned and thrust back against Sam’s hand, and heard Sam chuckle as the younger Winchester leaned forward to murmur in Dean’s ear, “So, you like that?” Dean could only moan out a vague sound of assent, and then Sam had added another finger, scissoring them and crooking them.

 

Dean jumped and swore when Sam’s fingers dragged over his prostate, and he could hear the grin in Sam’s chuckle as Sam did it again, on purpose this time. “Jesus, Sammy, hurry up,” he groaned, unconsciously bucking his hips.

 

It seemed Sam couldn’t wait any longer, because then Sam’s fingers were gone, replaced by the head of his cock. Dean’s head dropped to the mattress and he forced himself to relax, breathing deeply as Sam slowly pressed in, the intrusion a mix of pain and pleasure. Finally Sam was fully seated, his chest pressed to Dean’s back, his fingers twined with Dean’s. They were both panting, and Dean experimentally shifted backwards, rolling his hips a little. Sam gasped and thrust reflexively, and Dean growled, repeating the movement. Soon they were going at it mindlessly, the only thought—if it could be called that—the need to reach that cliff and dive off.

 

“Sam,” Dean groaned between thrusts. “Touch me, please, God, _touch me_.” He didn’t care that he was begging, didn’t care that he was being fucked by his little brother. The only thing he cared about was the fact that his orgasm was so close, was _right there,_ and all he needed was one—“Nh! God, _Sammy,_ ” he cried when Sam stroked him twice and he came. He felt Sam stiffen behind him, and then felt the warm pulse of Sam’s own orgasm, prolonging his. Finally they both collapsed, panting, to the bed.

 

Sam rolled him so that they were lying on their sides, Dean pulled in against Sam’s chest. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier, and he barely had time to realize that Sam was pulling him closer, nuzzling his hair, before he fell asleep.

 

***  
  
The next morning, Sam woke up content. He was warm and pleasantly sore, like he’d gotten a good workout the night before. He thought back to last night. A frown crossed his face. There was something he felt he should remember…

 

Dean made a soft noise and shifted in his sleep, and it all came rushing back. The dizziness, Dean doubling over in pain, and then the overwhelming lust, leading to…

 

“Holy _shit_!” Sam yelped, shoving himself backwards and off the bed. He flailed for a moment before finally getting to his feet. Dean was sitting up, glancing around wildly.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Dean asked, his eyes rushing around the room. Sam could only stare, open-mouthed. Dean was completely naked, and so was Sam. So last night.

 

“That wasn’t a dream,” he whispered, still staring at Dean. Dean frowned, confused, and then he finally seemed to realize the situation they were in. He paled visibly, his freckles standing out in stark relief to his skin.

 

“Oh, God,” Dean said, his voice dazed. “Did we really…”

 

“Yeah, we did,” Sam answered. Then he turned and, snagging a pair of sweatpants and underwear from his bag as he passed it, ran for the bathroom, throwing the door shut behind him and locking it before diving into the shower. He turned the water to as hot as he could stand it, grabbed the soap, and started scrubbing vigorously. “Oh, God, oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod,” he stammered, his skin flushed from the combination of the water temperature, the scrubbing, and the memories of last night.

 

Sam tossed the washcloth away from him, leaning against the shower wall. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit,_ ” he said, banging his head against the wall with every expletive. He should have listened to Dean; he should never have forced them into this situation. They had been made, obviously, there was no way they would have been hit with… that… randomly.

 

_Of course, it’s not like that hasn’t been in your thoughts for years now, is it, Sammy?_ that nasty little voice in his mind whispered. _Been dreaming of having Dean’s hands all over you, your cock in his ass, fucking him into the mattress just like last night?_

 

“Shut up!” Sam groaned, holding his head in his hands. Yeah, he’d thought about it, but there was no way in hell he would have ever, _ever_ acted on it! That would have been taking things— _had_ taken things—far, far beyond the Winchesters’ special brand of fucked-up.

 

Sam slowly rinsed off and turned the water off, getting dressed. He stepped out of the bathroom and didn’t look at Dean as he fished a shirt out of his bag.

 

“Sam,” Dean said from where he was still sitting on the bed. “I’m sorry.”

 

Sam’s eyes snapped to him. “Why? You didn’t do anything, Dean,” he said, shocked. Dean blamed himself?

 

“I didn’t stop this, didn’t stop your little charade,” Dean said, waving a hand in agitation. “I could have, but I didn’t.”

 

Sam just stared at Dean, his mouth hanging open. Finally, he said, “Well, what’s done is done; we’ve still got a case.” Dean looked like he wanted to say more, but Sam held up a hand. “Dean, let’s just agree we were both idiots, okay?”

 

Dean looked unconvinced, but nodded. “I’m gonna get a shower,” he said, his voice strangled as he avoided looking at Sam. Sam did the same, not looking at his brother as he opened up the laptop. A thought hit him, and he did some digging while Dean was in the shower. _Probably beating himself up,_ Sam thought.

 

When Dean finally emerged, Sam scooted over and turned the laptop so Dean could see it better. “We’re both idiots,” he announced.

 

Dean looked at him, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t come as close as he usually did, instead hovering a foot or so behind Sam’s chair. “Why?” he asked.

 

“Because that woman from the morgue yesterday? There’s no record of her anywhere in this town. How much you wanna bet she’s Aphrodite, and that man she was talking to was a cupid?” Sam could see Dean thinking it over.

 

“Makes sense,” Dean finally admitted. “Also explains why she would target us, what with the crap we pulled yesterday.” Sam didn’t comment on that.

 

“So, now we just need to find her again…”

 

“No need to, boys.” A woman’s voice suddenly came from the bed behind them, and Sam jumped. Dean did as well, but neither of them had any weapons on them or nearby, and it was obvious Aphrodite—with a body like that, it could only be Aphrodite—knew it. “Oh, do sit down,” she said, waving a hand. A chair appeared behind Dean, and it looked like someone forced him to sit down into it, although Sam couldn’t see anyone.

 

Aphrodite turned her focus to Sam, studying him for a moment before turning to the elder brother. “Oh,” she purred happily. “Delicious. You two are simply delicious. Both in love with the other, but too scared to say anything? I knew my instincts were right when I told Eros to hit you two.”

 

“Eros?” Sam asked, forcing himself to ignore her claim that Dean loved him. She was a goddess; they were known for trickery. “Your son?”

 

She nodded, laughing. “Oh, he wanted to get you two together as much as I did! I convinced him to hit you two with a simple lust spell, to see if you would try to fight it.” She smirked. “You didn’t, though, and I had all the answers I needed.”

 

“We’re brothers!” Dean protested, moving to get up, but this time the same man who had been talking with Aphrodite the night before appeared and shoved him down again.

 

“Ah, ah,” Aphrodite tutted, waving a finger at Dean. “You’re also soulmates, don’t you remember?” she said, smiling. “You two are destined to be together. In every way.” She grinned at them, and Sam found himself fighting the urge to punch her.

 

“All right, fine. Why make the people kill each other, though? Every person who was killed had a cupid’s marks on their heart.” Sam gazed at her steadily.

 

“Oh, them? One for each time Zeus thwarted my little pet project. I was already finished when you showed up. I was getting ready to leave, and then I heard that Sam and Dean Winchester—the vessels for two archangels, the soulmates, the ones who died and went to Hell for each other—were coming to investigate the deaths of those people. I couldn’t resist, I absolutely _had_ to get you two together somehow!” Aphrodite had the look of a cat who got the canary on her face.

 

“So you hit us with a lust spell?” Dean asked, incredulously.

 

“Oh, yes,” Aphrodite chirped. “It was the only way you were ever going to quit pretending to be a couple, you know, and actually become one! You’ve been fighting it for years now, and it’s about time you both got some sense spelled into you!” She glanced at Eros. “Well, are we done here?” she asked, and when he nodded, she smiled at Sam and Dean. “Now, don’t forget to tell each other how you feel, or else I’ll have to send some more cupids after you!” She gave a cheery wave, and then vanished, taking Eros with her.

 

Sam and Dean sat frozen for a moment, and then Sam glanced at Dean. Dean was staring at him, his expression hopeful, but mostly apprehensive. “Do you… Was she right?” Dean asked, as if he was afraid of Sam’s answer.

 

Sam swallowed. Now or never, right? “Yeah. Yeah she was.” He barely got the last syllable out before Dean was on him, kissing him hungrily. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he protested, pushing Dean back. “Was she right about you?” he asked, needing to hear it for himself.

 

“Yeah, she was. Since you were seventeen,” Dean breathed, kissing Sam again. Sam kissed him back, but this time Dean was the one to pull back. “You?”

 

“After I left for Stanford. I felt like hell, couldn’t get you out of my mind,” Sam answered, and then yanked Dean back in. “Now, shut up and fuck me,” he whispered.

 

And Dean, for once, did as he said.


End file.
